A Victim's Story
by je t'aimais
Summary: One sex crime victim comes to terms with death.


Blood

Blood.

Lots and lots of blood.

My blood.

Fuck, that's my blood.

Fuck, I'm going to die here.

Fuck.

This cold, dark, alleyway is where I'm going to die. That's not how I'm supposed to die. I'm supposed to be old and gray and…not bleeding profusely from a stab wound in my stomach.

Fuck.

I close my eyes, and the blurry events of the night begin to shape themselves in my mind. A man, a knife, a lot of screaming – you know, the sort of stuff that leads up to someone waking up in a dark alley bleeding to death.

Fantastic. On top of everything, my death is cliché.

God, I don't want to die here. Wait, did I just think of God? I'm a fucking atheist, for God's sake! I mean, not for God's sake...what the hell, I don't believe in God!

So that means there's nothing. I'm going to die and there will be nothing. An embarrassing end to an unfulfilled life. No afterlife. Just…nothing.

Oh well. I'll live on in my family's memories. And my friends. God, they'll miss me.

I need to stop thinking of God.

My parents are going to be pretty bummed, I guess. I wonder who's going to find me. Some random stranger, probably. The police will get called, my parents will have to identify my body – it's all just like a crime TV show.

But, you know, real, unfortunately. Very real.

I was so strong, so tough. I don't understand how I let this happen. I put up a fight, of course, but no one's going to know that. They'll think I'm weak, a damsel in distress. Oh, poor girl, she was only nineteen. Couldn't protect herself.

That's the most humiliating thing.

No, wait; I'm naked, aren't I? Is that why I'm so cold? That's the most humiliating thing. Great, I can't even be found wearing nice clothes or something. The whole fucking world is going to see me naked. I was uncomfortable letting my boyfriend see me naked, now the whole world is going to.

My boyfriend. Damn, I was actually really starting to like him. Oh well, he'll find someone new. He'll be okay, my family will be okay…

And then I am crying, but not out of pain. No, I'm numb to the throbbing in my stomach by now. It's from the fact that my life really meant nothing. I wanted to do something, change something. Make a difference, you know? I was going to be a writer. And now I'll never see my family again. My mom will never kiss me goodnight again, my dad won't get to say he loves me one last time. He never hung up the phone without saying that. Shit, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I'm leaving them, daughterless. Shit.

It's okay, it's okay. I take a deep breath. And then I am pissed. Tears of anger are coming now, spilling down my face. I'm a good person; my life doesn't deserve to be taken away by some asshole that stabs me in the stomach. How did this happen?

It was earlier in the night when I met him. He seemed nice enough, said he'd buy me a drink.

"Nah, I don't drink, thanks." I said.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing alone in a bar if she doesn't drink?" He said, deciding it was acceptable to sit down on the stool next to me.

Suddenly this guy didn't seem so nice anymore. Just creepy. I shifted a little, rolled my eyes, and took a deep breath. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend. He drinks. So I'm here, waiting for him. So he can drink."

Long explanation, I know. But I had hoped the asshole would get the point.

"Let me buy you a little something," Asshole breathed in my ear.

Apparently he didn't get the point.

"No." I said, calmly but assertively.

"Come on…" He grabbed my face in his hand and squeezed tightly. "You'll be sorry if you don't."

And that was it. I pulled away from Asshole and got out my phone to text my boyfriend to meet me somewhere else. I walked away from the bar and out the door, into the cool night air and the street that should've been populated with people.

But it wasn't. For some reason, no one was outside. It was a quiet area, sure, but I'd expected some people to be walking around. There were parked cars, but none driving by. Shit. I turned to go back into the bar; at least there were people there. But Asshole was coming out the door as I turned to go back in. He grabbed my wrists and slammed me against the wall. I kicked him in the balls and screamed at the top of my lungs.

Asshole yelped in pain (what a baby) but did not let go of my wrists. I was still kicking and screaming as he pulled them behind me with one hand and covered my mouth with his other. I struggled wildly, but it wasn't doing any good. Fuck, this could not be happening.

He dragged me into an alley and pushed me down on the ground, climbing on top of me. My clothes were ripped off of my body, despite my thrashing. I heard tape ripping and felt it circling my wrists. I was still kicking like crazy, but it did no good. Soon my ankles were taped together.

I gave one last attempt at a scream until I felt the tape being slapped onto my lips and wrapped around my head. Asshole smoothed the tape down and smirked.

"I bet you wish you weren't such a bitch now, huh?" He said, stroking my cheek.

I kicked him again – taped ankles or not, I would not stop fighting this guy.

He slapped me across the face. I tried not to cry when I felt the sharp blow, but I felt the tears welling up.

"That's better, you're gonna submit to me, you little slut."

Submit? Absolutely not. I was not going to give up and lie there passively as this prick did whatever he was going to do with me. And I had a feeling I knew what that was as he unzipped his filthy jeans.

Fuck. I didn't want to be raped. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I was scared, squeezing my knees together as I anticipated what was coming. But I blinked away my tears and sat up proudly. I was not submitting to this man.

Asshole ripped the tape from my mouth. "Say you're my slave." He said.

I laughed. I don't know why I laughed, it probably wasn't that best idea at the time. But I was nervous and defiant.

"No." I spat.

"You bitch!" He said, kicking me.

Then he was on top of me again, and suddenly inside of me.

"Say you're my slut, say it…" He kept saying, penetrating into me.

"No!" I yelled, with as much strength as I had in me. "No, no, no!"

Asshole was getting frustrated. I could tell he was having trouble because he pulled out of me before coming.

"Can't get off until you have complete control of a girl?" I challenged.

"You're a whore!" He screamed.

"Right," I said, sarcasm dripping in my voice. "I'm the whore. I'm the one who needs sex so badly she has to force others to have it with her."

"You, you little…" Asshole was losing his control. And I was breaking free of the tape. As soon as it was off my wrists, I reached down to rip it from my ankles. Asshole hardly had time to react, but as I stood up, he pulled me to him and pulled a knife from his pocket.

"Say I own you. Say I have complete control over you…Now!"

That was when I realized if I didn't say it, I was going to die. "You own me." I said, as genuinely as I could.

I felt something sharp hit my stomach. In and out went the knife. Blood, lots of blood. Splattering everywhere. I felt weak as I was pushed to the ground. I felt the impact of the cold ground hitting my head. Then there was nothing.

Somehow I woke up, not dead yet. Still bleeding, A slow, painful death. And I was trying to accept the fact that Asshole had won, had killed me.

And then I realized something. He had killed me, but he had not won. I had. He tried to control me, to rape me. But I did not give him the satisfaction.

Yes, I had won. I was dying, but I was stronger. I had not submitted to him.

So that was something I could die knowing. I may not have become a writer or made a real change in the world, but I didn't give up. I will die with self-respect because I did not give Asshole the satisfaction of controlling me. That was my accomplishment.

With the last bit of strength I have, I pull myself into a sitting position. I'm sitting up, straight and tall, like my mother used to tell me to do at the dinner table. I close my eyes and lean against the wall of the alley, submitting my body, but not my mind, to death.


End file.
